


My Boy Builds Coffins

by GirlDressedInBlack



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 08:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlDressedInBlack/pseuds/GirlDressedInBlack
Summary: The Mistress talks to Clara of the Doctor's body count. 'It's not good for a good man let's say.'





	My Boy Builds Coffins

**Author's Note:**

> Another celebratory oneshot for the Florence Collection.

The Mistress smirks, stretched out on the park bench, arms extended over the back and legs before her.

The wind doesn't blow and the heat stifles, already setting Clara on edge as she sits as far as she can from the woman, somehow unable to tear herself away from someone who knows the Doctor so well- has known him for so long.

She finds it disturbing and horrifying, the way that even this woman's smiles seems coated in malice.

Missy turns to look at the human, tilting her head and grinning too wide, eyes closed but by no means putting Clara at ease.

"Has the Doctor ever told you how many he's killed?" She asks, not innocent, never innocent, despite the curious tone of voice.

"No." Clara responds, wary, knowing she should just leave, "Don't see why he should have to. We're just friends." She replies, terse, meeting the Time Lady's eyes in a challenge she isn't quite sure she could meet.

"Oh! You don't mean that." Missy brushes off her voice as if it meant nothing. It is nothing to her though- less than that, Clara supposes.

"Let's just say that while some build coffins he must have to mass-produce them to bury all the people he's killed. You think  _I'm_ bad- you should look at his kill-count, kiddo." She continues before the human can say anything else.

"It's not good for a good man let's say." The Mistress says, blowing out a breath in fake concern for Clara with raised eyebrows which gives her enough irritation to leave before she tries to punch the woman and gets vaporised or whatever the woman's murder of choice is today.

"I don't believe you." She says, not quietly but firmly, insistently, immovable, as she stands up from the bench and walks away.

The Mistress doesn't move, watching the frail thing walk away, seeing her shaken mind try to set itself to rights. Her feathers are all ruffled and she can't help but chuckle at the poor mayfly.

"Oh you will one day." She calls out, voice dripping with darkness and amusement.

"One day you'll realise that he isn't perfect." The Mistress murmurs, eyes hooded as she smirks again, content.


End file.
